Unmasked

…I swear to God I have a thing for using the word mask in a title. I didn't plan it.

Yes, I'm still working on Mask…never fear. I just wanted to publish this because I felt like it, and the idea came into my head. And yes…you read the tags right. It's a crossover between Frozen and Phantom of the Opera…don't laugh. I just decided to go for it. I also published this on Wattpad, because that's where my friend reads things, and she begged me to…and I figured I'd publish it here, as well. You guys all have a right to read this as well…so here goes.

I own zip. Zero. Nada. In other words, nothing!

Chapter 1

Erik ought to have been able to find his way.

He'd lived in these tunnels all his life, and he could keep his head in the near-total darkness of the twisting passages, lit only by the sputtering torch he carried. But his head wasn't very clear now.

Erik swore as his shin met a small rock projecting directly upward, which of course he hadn't seen till the last second. He barely avoided tripping and limped on, cursing in all of the few ways he knew how, but he almost welcomed the pain which raced up his leg. It helped him forget, if only for a few precious moments, about the mental anguish which threatened to drive him insane. If he hadn't gone insane already. And he'd seriously considered the possibility, sometimes in the past few hours.

In the dank, twisting labyrinth, all he saw was Christine's face, and all he heard were her words of love, the ones he'd longed to hear for so many desolate years. Only the cruelest fate would have torn them apart at that moment. But he had heard the distant shouts, saw the flickering of the torches far away but drawing near, and he knew he had to run for it or perish.

I should have taken her with me. I should have asked her, begged her to come, but no. I am a fool, a damned, awful fool. I should have brought Christine.

Erik shook his head in a vain effort not to think about that. Even if he turned back now and found his way back to his living space, all he would find were the vengeful searchers destroying his organ, tearing up his music, and his own death at their hands. Though that might be welcome now, it wouldn't accomplish the one thing he wanted most; to find Christine and change her mind.

He couldn't explain what made him urge her to stay, flee through his mirror, and leave the only woman he'd ever cared about behind. The same urge which had led him to hide his face, the same fear which for years had made him unable even to show his masked form to Christine, was the same one which made him drive her away. He couldn't have her now, not after all that had happened, all he had done. She had just kissed him to save Raoul's life, not out of love for him.

The thought would have made him smile, if his broken heart had allowed for a smile. That was what it must have been, of course. How could any woman with eyes bear to even take a second look at his mangled, hideous features, let alone live with him, and them?

Erik brushed his hand savagely across his eyes. He thought he had shed all the tears his eyes could produce in…how long had he been in these tunnels? Minutes? An hour? A day? Longer than that? He had totally lost track of time.

Suddenly he saw a door, only a few feet ahead. He stumbled towards it. It ought to be the one leading…north. He wasn't sure exactly where it let out; for once, he, the Phantom of the Opera, who ought to know each and every single tunnel and passage beneath Paris, was totally lost. He had no clue where he would come out. Nor did he particularly care, so long as he could hide his face and his cursed name.

He automatically reached up to make sure his mask was in place, then cursed for the hundredth time that night as he realized it was gone. Christine—of course. Christine had torn off his mask back in the opera house in front of everyone.

The memory still seared and throbbed with the agony of supreme humiliation. He had kept his face hidden for decades. When he first went into hiding, he vowed no one would ever see his face without a mask again. He would not be an object of horror and amusement—not again. He couldn't bear the thought that anyone would see his face, and know him for the monster he was, not until Christine came.

She had been the first one he had thought could lead him out of his lonely existence. She alone understood him, and for a while he had dared to dream she cared for him…the way he cared for her. And then the woman he loved, trusted, more than he did any other living being, exposed his deepest, darkest secret; exposed him, the self he'd run from all his life. She had wounded him more deeply than anyone had since his childhood.

"Shut up," Erik muttered through his teeth as he reached the door and started to struggle with the bolts. The heavy, ancient wood groaned and refused to yield. "Get out of my head, damn you, get out!"

The next second, he felt horrible. How could he curse Christine? Even if she had broken his heart and stepped on his dignity, he couldn't say a bad word against her. Gritting his teeth, he pushed back the bolt with all his strength, and the door yielded to his efforts.

Erik cringed back in instinctive terror from the door which slowly, creakily swung wide, remembering in time, but then he breathed a sigh of relief. Stars twinkled silently at him and cold, crisp night air flowed into the black, musty tunnel. He could see no people, no houses, not a light in sight. Nothing but a silent, snowy landscape as far as the eye could see.

Erik hesitated, then stepped out of the tunnel. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. His chest swelled with the sharp, frigid air. He closed his eyes and felt tears leak down his cheeks, turning cold on his face.

He opened his eyes and glared up at the stars. They shone brighter than anything he'd seen in forever, the cold making them all the clearer. Clear as Christine's eyes, her ringing voice…

Erik couldn't hold it together any more. He had been able to stay sane up till now. His courage, a modicum of sanity and a small, yet still indomitable will to live had sustained him up to this point, pushing him forward. But now he had reached his destination, and the full realization of his loss crushed him to the ground. He had escaped, and now he had nowhere to go, nothing to look forward to, nothing to live for ever again.

He crumpled to the ground and covered his face with his hands, loud, convulsive childlike sobs breaking out of him like the whimpering moans of some pathetic animal, alone and in pain, giving voice to its agony in the only way it knew how. He buried his face in the soft, powdery snow, feeling the cold seep into his face, and his tears and saliva mingling with the white purity, contaminating it. He dug his fingers into his face, driving his nails in and leaving small red crescents. His face was hideous enough, it had ruined him. It had taken away everything and everyone he loved. Why could he not strip it off like the mask he'd always worn?

It isn't a mask. It's who I am. I am ugly as my face. My soul is twisted, stained black and red. I am a monster. An outcast, a devil's child. They were right. They were all right.

Suddenly, something settled over him light as the wing of a huge butterfly. He started up, gazing wildly around. He thought someone had found him, someone had come for him. Even here, even now he couldn't be alone with his grief.

But instead of a curious face which would twist and expand as the intruder broke into a terrified scream, he saw…nothing.

Erik turned and looked all around, and then as he sat up a little and gazed in surprise. A dark, royal purple cloth, someone's cloak or cape, had settled over him.

Erik lifted the thing up and gazed at it. It looked very fine, simple but well-made. And it was a cape. Someone had worn this thing and in some way lost it. And it had drifted on the wind and found its way to him, like a message of comfort.

Erik shook his head in simple wonder at this strange thing. He sat, just gazing at the cape for a moment, his heaving chest slowly subsiding to a normal rhythm of breathing. He almost forgot his tears in surprise and curiosity at this small miracle.

Suddenly he sat up with a start. The owner of this cape must be searching for it. They were undoubtedly close by. They might find him, and it, and when they saw him…

Erik glanced around wildly. His eyes fell on the doorway in the side of a hill, still wide open like a mouth, but he couldn't bring himself to go back into that tunnel. What would he do there, eat the dirt and lurk there as he always had, until he died of thirst and hunger? He didn't particularly mind the thought of dying, but he would not die like that.

Erik heaved a great, shuddering sigh. If the owner of this cape found him, let them. He could hardly be worse off than he was now. And…a tiny, bitter smile broke over his face. They need not even see his face. Whoever had lost this garment had given him just what he needed. Surely they wouldn't miss a small section off this cape.

He reached into his pocket and thankfully, the small, handy knife he always carried was there. Erik drew it out and sliced off the very top portion of the cape, measuring with eyesight and mental math alone, making sure it had enough material to cover his face. He took great care to leave the little flaps on either side, the ones which would fasten the cape at the wearer's neck intact.

When he had finished, he surveyed his work with satisfaction. Another minute was spent in holding the section of purple cloth up to his face, and making sure it covered all his features. Then he cut out two eye holes, and tied the makeshift mask onto his face, tying it behind his ears. It fit him perfectly.

No one would ever shudder at him again. Erik did a little bit more trimming, cutting out two more small flaps so the wearer couldn't complain about the little he'd taken off, then surveyed the cape with satisfaction.

Suddenly, Erik shivered and then he had to frantically untie and yank off his mask so he could sneeze over his shoulder. He looked around and then he smiled again, bitterly. Running desperately for his life, he hadn't thought to grab anything but a torch, not even a cloak or an extra jacket.

Then he looked at the purple cape and shrugged. If the owner of the cape came along, they could have it. In the meantime, he intended to use it. Erik had nowhere to go, and he didn't even know where he was now.

So, he put his mask back on, then he scooped snow away with his hands until he had created a patch of bare, damp ground and stretched out on it. He drew the cape over him and curled up beneath it. Whoever it belonged to had a shorter, slenderer body than he did-he had to huddle up for it to cover him completely.

Erik had no idea how many hours he would lie awake, but soon his eyes grew heavy. He tried to fight it for a while, but then he let himself go and drifted off to sleep.